


Make Me Feel Alive

by Emery



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Introspection, M/M, Relationship Problems, and Armin is fed up, basically Jean is being Jean, but he's also Armin, if you really squint, implied past jeanmarco, so he does a lot of thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emery/pseuds/Emery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Armin reminded himself that he was alive, and that there was no better proof of his heart beating behind his ribs than the tightening of his chest as he kept his frustration towards Jean in check.</i>
</p><p>In which Armin fights with Jean, finally stands up for himself, and sees another side to the madness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me Feel Alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [donniedont](https://archiveofourown.org/users/donniedont/gifts).



> _Un-beta'd_
> 
> For my friend Donnie's birthday <3 They requested
>
>> I guess not fluff? maybe a date that goes horribly wrong? I’m really into them being together, but having very rough patches, because Jean is a fool and Armin is tired of being walked over, even if relationships are about compromise.
> 
> [Come visit me on Tumblr!](http://emeryylee.tumblr.com)

It was supposed to be a date. Armin couldn’t remember the last time he and Jean and the others had been given a day off—this one he had built up in his mind for weeks. Whenever he was bored, whenever he was scared, whenever he was just downright frustrated with the soreness of his body or the worry that ate through his brain, Armin would retreat into the world he had created, all surrounding the one perfect day that was on its way.

Jean had helped, too—had whispered sly reminders in Armin’s ear, had raised an eyebrow and smirked coyly whenever their eyes met in the castle halls. Even their sparring sessions were rife with playful grins and underhanded attacks, all spurred forward by a sweet tension that only Jean and Armin could manage to create between themselves.

What Armin had failed to take into account was how the fantasy he had created for himself as an escape could never possibly live up to reality and how, by placing so much emphasis on this single day, he was only setting himself up for failure—especially when his boyfriend was one as emotionally volatile as Jean.

They trudged along the cobblestone streets, not hand-in-hand like Armin had imagined, but with arms crossed or hands in pockets and minds in too much turmoil to speak. The day off had come, but Jean’s mood was tainting it.

Armin wondered if he was partially responsible or if Jean was mad at him. He wondered if his earlier reaction had gone too far, and he desperately wanted to know if Jean had finally sensed his jealousy. Armin knew it was wrong, but it was something he couldn’t help when at least once a week Jean nearly had an emotional breakdown over Marco. _It’s been over a year._ That one sentence, uttered carelessly earlier that day, was all it took.

“You know I didn’t mean it, Jean,” Armin ventured. “You should take as long as you need to get over it. You’re certainly not at fault for—“

All at once, Jean turned on his heels and, with fists clenched at his sides, looked down on Armin as he shouted, “Shut the _fuck_ up!”

Armin’s lips parted in shock. A few passersby in the street turned their way, but only for a moment, and Armin wasn’t worried about them, anyway. He looked at Jean with disbelief in his azure eyes that narrowed as Armin’s breathing grew more ragged and his heart beat faster in his chest.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Jean.” The reply was calmer than Armin had anticipated—he was proud of himself for that. His fists clenched to match Jean’s. He hated this, but he would _not_ let himself become the subject of more abuse. He and Jean were equals, and hell, they were _lovers_. Armin would have his say.

“And don’t talk to _me_ , Armin, like you’re fucking entitled to every one of my goddamn emotions. Don’t think I can’t tell. I’m not an _idiot_ like Jeager. You’re _jealous_ , and _that’s_ why—“

Too much. It was all much too much. Soft blond strands followed the swift motion of Armin’s head as he turned around and walked. He didn’t know where he was going, nor did he have much desire to consider it. Anywhere would be better than there. His face flushed, Armin hated himself for the tears that threateningly pricked at the corners of his eyes. He was sick of being weak and the default option for the others in the 104th to trample on whenever they needed an outlet. That’s all he had been his entire life—the kids in Shinganshina, his own parents, and now his fellow troops.

Enough was enough.

He knew he should be more understanding and forgive Jean because, hell, who in this godforsaken world _wasn’t_ emotionally compromised? But Armin’s pride kept him silent as he stampeded away. Jean was a fool—a selfish, condescending, stuck-up _prick_ no different than the ones who had beat Armin up in alley ways and stomped on his beloved books. Armin knew exactly how this would go down. Later that night, when everyone was back in their bunks awaiting whatever horrors may confront them at dawn, Jean would approach him. He would climb into Armin’s bunk and brush away the bangs that had grown longer and kiss him on the forehead, soft and sweet, murmuring an apology against Armin’s skin. They would sleep together—not have sex—just sleep, and then they would wake up in the morning to a whole new world of pain and sacrifice and heartbreak to start the cycle again.

“I’m sorry I ruined our date,” Jean would say, and it wouldn’t matter, because it was in the past and nothing he could do would change the fact that Armin’s heart had reached its breaking point and split down the middle into two jagged halves.

 _Emotions will get you killed, Kirschtein_ , Armin thought coolly. The corporal had taught him that, and it was valuable advice.

 _But without them_ , Armin added to what was quickly becoming another inward debate, _Jean wouldn’t be human. Without his extremes he wouldn’t be_ Jean. It was all about the push and pull, the give and take, Armin decided.

It was no mystery that Jean was overwhelming, and Eren had questioned Armin’s choice on more than one occasion.

“You’re slow, Armin, like careful,” Eren had said once, a couple of weeks after Jean and Armin’s first kiss in the barracks—a kiss meant to be noticed by no one but actually seen by everyone. “Jean’s reckless. He loves, well, _too_ hard, and he hates even harder.”

“I’ll be fine,” Armin had replied, and he remembered the happy smile he had shone at Eren, the curl of those no-longer-virgin lips. “I’m friends with _you_ , aren’t I?”

And that had been that, end of conversation.

Armin could handle himself, now. Maybe that had been a skill he once lacked, but he was without it no longer, and Armin stood tall even when he heard Jean’s voice calling to him from behind. A hand caught his shoulder and forced his small frame around.

“Armin, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“

“No, you _shouldn’t have_ , Jean.”

Armin watched the way Jean’s jaw locked and the noticeable effort Jean was putting forth to keep from retaliating.

They stood that way, in complete silence save for the rush of blood Armin felt pounding through his ears like a stallion out of control, for an amount of time that Armin didn’t bother to take note of. He stared at Jean and Jean stared at him for as long as they needed to before their breaths slowed to a normal pace and their eyes widened from what had been accusatory slits.

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Armin replied, although his tone still held a firm iciness. He offered his small hand, and Jean took it, then planted a brief kiss to each of Armin’s fingers.

Their eyes met, gleaming with hope, and it seemed that they were on speaking terms again, but Armin knew that the date was ruined and that he and Jean may as well return to the barracks and spend the rest of the evening getting their minds off of their petty fighting and preparing themselves for their duties the next day. Armin’s and Jean’s thoughts were exchanged in silence, conveyed through nothing but meaningful glances and Jean’s squeezing of Armin’s hand—a silent agreement was made, and a promise for a better next time.

On their way back to the camp, they _did_ walk hand in hand, although it was impossible for Armin not to notice the hard grip of Jean’s fingers and the sweatiness of his palms. It was rough, being with Jean, but worthwhile, Armin decided.

Armin reminded himself that he was alive, and that there was no better proof of his heart beating behind his ribs than the tightening of his chest as he kept his frustration towards Jean in check. It was a rough patch, and that was all. They would be by it, soon, even if crawling out of one hole only led to both of them falling into a new one.

This volatility, this instability of Jean’s was troublesome, but did it not also mean that Armin’s boyfriend was living to the fullest? Armin turned this thought over and over in his head, bringing his eyebrows together to form a miniscule crease between them. He noticed Jean looking at him, then, probably wondering what Armin was thinking about because that furrowed brow was always indicative of contemplation, but Armin felt no desire to appease him by musing aloud. Jean still had to be punished at least a little, after all, and Armin knew that the silence would certainly make Jean reconsider his earlier outburst.

Jean felt _fully_. He _lived_ fully. And if being in a relationship with a man who valued his life as much as Jean meant a small fight every now and then, it was certainly good enough for Armin just to know that he was alive at all in a world where death was more than commonplace.


End file.
